While working on the revision for the fantasy novel, I realized something that’d passed me by on my previous edits. Well, I say ‘revision’ but mostly what I’m doing is falling under ‘rewrite’. I’m taking large chunks of my old draft, keeping what works, and cutting out what doesn’t. There’s a brand-new opening for our young hero, which gives him a bit more fleshing out and dispenses with some exposition in a manner better than I had written previously, but what I came across yesterday was something else entirely.
I realized I was being far too easy on my characters.
Conflict is the essence of good storytelling, and it happens all the time, even between people who care deeply about one another. It can be as simple as an ill-timed word or joke or as complex as coming down on opposite sides of a political or religious debate. And that’s before we get into anything morally questionable. The more we show our characters not getting along, the more we can relate to them. Because we don’t always get along.
This isn’t to say that you should always be beating up your characters. Give them little victories and moments to breathe where you can. But they’ll mean more if you make the characters earn them. Trial by combat may seem to be the easiest way to do that, but the operative word there is “easy”. Presenting a monolithic threat by way of a slavering beast, an enemy fleet or a goon squad can give way to action, sure, but there’s only so much development that can happen for our characters in the course of that particular kind of conflict. The readers may also have never engaged in ship-to-ship combat in space or magical duels or even gunfights. It’s far more likely they’ve had a shouting match with a family member or had their heart broken by a revelation from a loved one. Such things are much closer to home for most readers. Your story moves along more naturally, your characters grow deeper and more real and the experience you give your audience becomes richer.
To me, that’s worth putting some fictional people through a bit of hell.
Living with writers is a tricky business at times. Look here, here and here for some of the proof. Over and above any cautionary tale you might here from the trenches is a deeper truth that is ever-present but rarely discussed. Writers, especially creators of fiction, for all their imagination and altruism and creativity and willingness to share their inspiration to inform and entertain, share a common bond that has nothing to do with what they drink and everything to do with how they do what they do.
I know I may be exaggerating somewhat, but bear with me through the metaphors. Writers, you see, are criminals.
Writers are Thieves
A writer may talk about someone or something that inspires them. What they’re really doing is confessing to theft. Now it’s rarely wholesale thievery, and you may need to look very carefully to see the seams between ideas stolen from other sources, but trust me, the wholly original idea presented by a writer is exceedingly rare.
Many writers have talked about this, at times obliquely, but Joseph Campbell is probably the best-known whistle-blower for this sort of thing. The idea of the hero’s journey is nothing new in the slightest, with the task of the writer being to modify that narrative through-line to make it interesting and relevant. Often the words being used have their roots in outside sources. However, the important part is not the words themselves, but rather what they are talking about.
Writers are Voyeurs
When you pick up a work of fiction, be it rattled off by a fan of a particular current narrative or a story spanning multiple volumes and years, you are looking into the lives of other people. You are seeing as much or as little as the author wants you to see. At times, you’ll be witnessing moments and aspects the people in question may not wish you to witness. You’ll be watching them at their most vulnerable, their most monstrous or their most intimate.
What is this if not voyeurism?
We often find or are told that the act of watching another person, especially if they are unaware of our presence, is something abhorrent. It’s invasive and we should be ashamed of ourselves. Yet we do it all the time. And it is writers, of stage and screen and page, who encourage us to engage in this sort of sordid, vicarious living.
It’s not all steamy windows and heavy breathing, though. When we see the lives of others unfold, the possibility exists for us, despite only being involved as observers, gaining something from the experience. The exploration of these fictional people can give us insight into our own perspectives and motivation. If we can relate to, understand and care for original characters, there’s no reason we can’t relate to, understand and care for our fellow man.
Writers are Murderers
George RR Martin, I’m looking at you.
What are writers if not gods of their own little worlds? They create the people that populate their stories, give them backgrounds, motivations and personalities, sometimes to the point of being all but living and breathing in the minds of the audience. Then, for the sake of the plot or to drive home a point, the writer kills them. Don’t be fooled by something like old age or heart failure or an “accident” – the character is only dead because the writer murdered them.
You can smooth over the stealing in a few ways, and the voyeurism is victimless, if a bit creepy. But murder? Man, that’s serious business. The writer is destroying something they themselves have created for the sake of telling a story.
Or rather, if they’re any good, for the sake of telling a good story.
The only two true inevitabilities in this life are that you are going to die and you are going to pay taxes. And writing about taxes isn’t very sexy or exciting. It goes back to the vicarious nature of experiencing fiction: by seeing how others deal with death, we can gain some measure of peace, understanding and even inspiration to apply to our own lives. The writer’s murders take on an edge beyond this due to the finality of death, but it can still be to the ultimate benefit of the audience.
There’s also the fact that it can be a hallmark of a writer doing their job well. If people are truly outraged by the death of a character, if they cry out in protest or flip tables or what have you, the writer’s done something very special. They’ve made the audience care about an imaginary person. The people experiencing the story feel something on a personal level, have become engaged if not immersed in this tale, which means the writing has done more than convey a story. It’s drawn people into it and inspired them to care.
You can’t make an omelet without making a few eggs, and you can’t tell a truly compelling story without characters dying.
Writers are dark. They’re dastardly. They’re absolutely despicable.
One of the most popular posts ever over at terribleminds is this one, entitled “Beware of Writer.” He also penned a sequel that’s just as worthwhile to read. But let’s say you’ve ignored his advice. You’re going to fly in the face of common sense and good taste and actually shack up with one of us crackpot writer-types, in spite of the tiny hurricanes of impotent rage and the nigh-constant smell of booze. Here’s a couple things to keep in mind that may help you keep from running screaming into the night.
Writers are Finicky Bitches
In addition to being very easily distracted (if you didn’t know, we are), writers can get new ideas all the time, at the drop of a hat. It’s not uncommon for a writer to have a few projects at work at any given time. Let’s say our subject is working on a novel and some poetry, and all of a sudden gets an idea for a new tv series about puppet detectives. It’s not enough for us to be distracted by video games or movies or pet antics or offspring or bright flashing lights or loud noises. No no, we need to distract ourselves on top of all of that.
Writers either drift in a slight miasma of barely cognizant perceptions as they indulge in their distractions, or they’re frustrated by efforts to reassert their concentration on something they’re righting. It can make a writer seem bipolar. And if they really are bipolar, woo boy you talk about fun times!1
Surviving this as an outsider requires a metric fuckton of patience. Either you will be asked to participate in some sort of odd habit, or you will be all but ignored as something new distracts the writer. You can go along with it or rail against it, but the important thing is to remind the writer that they should, at some point, write. Yes, you may get bitten over it. That’s what the rolled-up newspaper is for. Aim for the nose.
Writers are Masters (and Mistresses) of Excuses
You’re going to catch a writer not writing. This can be like catching a teenager with their pants down and making them explain the nature of the self-examination they seem to be enjoying. You just need to keep in mind that procrastination is perfectly natural and lots of writers do it. There are even some writers who encourage other writers to procrastinate.
Before I stretch that metaphor any more uncomfortably, the important thing to note is that writers will tell you all manner of tall tales in an effort to avoid your scrutiny. Especially if said writer’s bailiwick is fiction. I mean, come on, these people lie for a living. Or at least as a primary hobby. Of course they’re going to tell you space monkeys invaded in the middle of the night and that’s why the lawn hasn’t been mowed or the dishes remain unwashed. Damn dirty space simians!2
Just as writers need and, if they’re responsible and good, want to be told when something they write doesn’t quite work, writers also need to occasionally be called on their bullshit. “Space monkeys? I don’t see any poo on the walls other than your own. It’s time to shut off the Internet and make some more of that word magic happen, pooplord.” Your exact wording may vary, but you get the idea.
Writers Do, In Fact, Want to Write
So let’s say you’re keeping a writer focused on the now. You’re getting them to help out around the house. They’re watching the kids. They’re cooking meals. They’re renovating your siding and keeping you in whatever it is you like to do when you’re not working. Guess what they’re not doing?
If you guessed “writing”, you just won a bigass shiny No-Prize! Congrats!3
Take a look at any writer pontificating on the need to write, and you’ll see something emerge. There’s definitely a deep-seated compulsion there. On top of any other madness or psychosis, a writer needs to write. Yes, the writer may procrastinate, putter around, put off writing because writing can suck a big fat one from time to time, but at the end of the day, writing is at the core of who that person is, otherwise – Anyone? Anyone? Beuller? – they wouldn’t be a writer.
So do them and yourself a favor. Take the kids for an hour. Put the video game down yourself. Mow the lawn or wash a few dishes. Just give them space, and a little bit of time. If it’s been a while since they’ve written, you bet your ass words will happen while you’re tending to chores.
Or you could not, and they’ll resent you in a deeply personal way. Your call.
I think this may be the biggest key to surviving life with a writer. Giving a little measure of time to write, moreso than calling them on excuses or distractions, relieves the pressure in their minds and helps them get closer to their goals. And the writer will love you for it.
1 I can’t say anybody acted all that surprised when I was diagnosed as bipolar. There was plenty of relief that legitimate psychosis wasn’t involved, though. Not that the doctors could detect, at least. Suckers.
2 They’re rude as hell, too. Coming in the middle of the evening and keeping me from finishing a blog post with their howling and poop-slinging and I was researching League of Legends champion builds and got distracted from finishing this last night I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry please don’t bap me with the newspaper again.
3 Actual contents of No-Prize may vary, from “absolutely nothing” to “sweet fuck-all.”
So NaNoWriMo is beginning and a lot of you out there are taking freshly-sharpened pencils to blank pages. This next month is going to be full of inspiration, frustration, erasures, crossed-out words, broken tips and lots of caffeinated beverages.
I wish you the best of luck.
Related to last week’s post on showing instead of telling, I wanted to touch on something that came up in a recent edit. This will not apply to everything, mostly genre works or those rooted in history. And as with any writing advice, you may find it useful or you might not. But here it is.
You’ll want to show your audience the details in your work, without showing off how much you know.
If you’ve done a lot of world-building behind the scenes, chances are you’re practically busting at the seams to invite people into that new world. And in doing so, you want to show off all the neat stuff you have going on, from the retrograde rotation of the planet to the native people who are a cross between the Na’vi, red pandas and baby seals. That’s fine, but if you front-load your story with long passages on the world’s ecosystem and fauna, you’re committed the aforementioned cardinal sin: you are telling, not showing.
It’s similar with historical works. If you want to do it right, you’ve done a lot of research. You want to make sure that history buffs don’t tear your work to ribbons and ignore the thrust of your narrative because you made the sash worn by the second-in-command to the regional commandant the wrong color. If your audience might obsess over the details, it’s to your benefit to do the same, but not necessarily to the detriment of showing over telling.
Here, as with other expository writing, action and dialog will once again come to your rescue. It may take a little narrative positioning, but you can adjust your characters and their conversations in such a way as to convey the facts without taking away from the story. Don’t just describe the historically accurate landscape, do so through the eyes of character seeing it for the first time, or perhaps who has seen it one time too many. It’s one thing to put down the inner workings of your semi-magical difference engine on paper, it’s another to have a scruffy engineer explain things to a wet-behind-the-ears physics wizard while banging on the thing with a wrench. So on and so forth.
I hope other writers will find this sort of thing useful as NaNoWriMo begins. For them, and perhaps for you, this is the beginning of a grand adventure that may open the doors to a brand new way of conveying ideas and fleshing out dreams, and that’s wonderful.
You’re going to see this, a lot, if you’re starting out or struggling as a writer and you get up the gumption to put your work in front of the eyes of another human being. Show, don’t tell. At the most basic level, it means you should always have characters doing things and events happening in such a way that the audience is shown what is going on, instead of simply telling them.
I can tell you from experience that it isn’t always obvious. We can’t always look at our own work and say “Oh, yeah, I’m telling the hell out of this and need to be showing more.” Sometimes, yes. Other times we’re too focused on other things, such as conveying what we feel is enough information, or getting through a tedious portion of the story to get to the “good stuff”. I know it’s a trap I’ve fallen into before and probably will again.
I really don’t feel I can give a lot of advice on this, as it’s something I myself struggle with, but when I’m told I’m telling instead of showing, there are a couple things I do in an attempt to alleviate the issue. I include more dialog, or inject more action.
They’re really two parts of the same solution, as characters doing something is always preferable to them doing nothing. And if you’re rattling off expository information and doing little else, your characters are idle. Show them in motion. Engage them in conversation. Weave the information you need to convey into other elements, from small talk to gunfights, in order to show your meaning instead of just telling it to the audience.
Your characters, after all, are what they do, and how they say what they say is often just as important as the words coming out of their mouths. The more you show them in action, the more they come alive for your audience and the less exposition is necessary. Writing the words “He felt frustrated” doesn’t have quite the same impact as “He frowned, turned away from the equipment and kicked the wall hard enough to leave a crack.”
Do you have other examples? Classic literature, modern movies, something of your own? How do you show instead of telling?
